


we awkwardly stare until our lips lock

by manntequilla



Series: gay boys [5]
Category: South Park
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Alcohol, Drunken Shenanigans, M/M, Underage Drinking, and very confused, stan is stupid, they're so gay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-09
Updated: 2019-07-09
Packaged: 2020-06-25 02:09:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,248
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19736212
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/manntequilla/pseuds/manntequilla
Summary: bad movie nights and drinking





	we awkwardly stare until our lips lock

It’s movie night. A horrible movie night, and maybe, just maybe, this is a horrible night in general. Stan thinks. They get back from Craig and Clyde’s somewhere after 1 am and Stan feels like his stomach is about to burst and spill out two bags of shitty buttery popcorn with mango Smirnoff he consumed on the pavement. Kenny tries to put his arm around him but accidentally elbowed him in his ribs.

“Ow, fuck- Kenny!” Stan tries, and fails miserably, to sound serious. Kenny is practically shaking next to him, giggling and snorting because he remembered some stupid joke Clyde said an hour ago. 

“I’m sorry! Shit, the ground is wet. I almost fell, dude.” Kenny clings onto Stan, both arms tightly around his sides so he can barely walk.

“I can’t walk like this!”

“I’m gonna fall and break my fucking neck!”

“I’m calling an uber.” Stan fishes his phone out of his pocket and rubs his eyes with his other hand. It’s dark, cold, and one of Kenny’s hands is sneaking beneath his sweatshirt.

“Can I sleep at your place?” 

Stan waits for Kenny to look up at him and stop fidgeting with his jacket, but he’s too tired and achy to even start questioning why Kenny wouldn’t just go to his apartment instead.

“Okay.”

Kenny mumbles a thanks and rests his head on Stan’s shoulder. “If I fall asleep in the uber you have to carry my three hundred pound body up the stairs. I can never fall back asleep when ‘m woken up.”

“Okay”

By some miracle they manage to make it up the stairs to Stan's door. The second they come to a halt Kenny's hands are on him again, sneaking past his jacket and around his middle. The lights on his floor aren’t working and Stan fumbles with the keys with both hands.

Kenny is babbling with his face pressed into Stan's back and Stan is trying to ignore him, focusing on the keys. His vision is fuzzy at the corners and everything is pleasantly warm; it takes all of Stan's willpower not to throw the fucking keys away, turn around and kiss Kenny's stupid face.

They finally make it inside, Kenny tripping over a shoe next to the door and giggling like it’s the funniest thing that’s happened all week. Stan turns around to turn the lights on and lock the door, hoping Kenny can’t see his shoulders shake from trying to hold in his laughter.

“Fuck. Hey, I can see you laughing over there, by the way! C’mon over here and help me up at least, you lazy fuck.” When Stan turns around, Kenny is making grabby hands at him.

“You’re not an old man, you can do it, Kenny.” And yet Stan walks over to him, grabs hold of his wrists, and pulls him up. Kennh lets himself fall into Stan's body, arms lazily wrapping around his waist, a little bit like a hug. For a brief second Stan forgets how to use his hands again, before they settle on Kenny's upper back. Kenny makes another humming noise, content and happy, like he could fall asleep right then and there.

Stan knows he needs to get him to bed, needs him to sleep this off. He knows, thinks, guesses that Kenny doesn’t mean any of this and just gets extra clingy when he’s drunk. Stan puts an arm around Kenny and tries to half-carry him to the couch.

Stan knows Kenny doesn’t like him that way.

Kenny kisses him when they stop in the middle of the living room.

He misses Stan's mouth and tries again. Stan freezes, puts both hands on Kenny's face, and pulls him back so they’re looking at each other.

“Is this okay?” Kenny has one of those stupid half-grins going on with droopy eyes, and it’s driving Stan insane. He pulls him back in and shoves his doubts as far back into his brain as possible.

The angle’s off and kissing Kenny reminds him a little bit of a dog licking his face. It feels slightly better when Kenny gets a hand on the back of Stan's neck, fingers scratching, searching roaming. Stan does the same and twists Kenny's hair between his fingers, pulls. Kenny makes a noise and it hits Stan so hard he almost breaks in half, willpower flushed out of his body with alcohol.

Kenny bites down on Stan's lower lip and suddenly, forcefully, like a hit to the chest, Stan feels a pang of fear, that Kenny is just pranking him or that he’s gonna stop talking to him once he’s sober. Stan can’t think straight, he’s wobbly on his feet and thinks he’s gonna fall backwards when he feels both of Kenny's arms around his lower back, steadying him.

Kenny is still giggling when Stan presses a kiss to his mouth, like he can’t stop, mouth stretched into the stupidest grin.

“Am I the first guy you jerked off to?”

“Yes!”

Stan looks at him.

“That’s kind of an honor, then.”

Kenny just grins at him. “Well, there was this one time I was watching porn, and this chick was blowing this handsome dude, really tall, pasty- like you! He distracted me so much, by the end of it I didn’t know if I blew my load for the girl or the guy.”

Stan doesn’t know if it’s the alcohol or the sleepiness fogging up his brain, but something about that dumb little story is so endearing, so very Kenny, it makes his heart swell a tiny, tiny bit.

Then Kenny is kissing him again, open mouthed and honest, puts his tongue and spit and whole body into it, like he means it. He sways a little and slows down, dizzy spell from the alcohol. Stan doesn’t think he knows what he’s doing.

He tries to guide him a little, both hands on Kenny's face, grounding him. Kenny puts his hand back on Stan's neck and digs his blunt fingernails in, a dull pressure, like a button that makes Stan say Kenny's name every time he pushes it. Kenny walks them backwards and then they’re sprawled out on the couch, laughing at their limbs tangling. They readjust, and Kenny flops down on top of Stan, grinning like an idiot two inches away from his face.

Stan looks at him, really looks at him, and realizes just how drunk Kenny actually is. His speech is slurred, his movements clumsy. He takes the fingers of Stan's left hand into his mouth and explores them with his tongue. It tickles, feels weird, and Stan wonders if Kenny intended for this to be sexy. Kenny is a mess, hair all over the place, greasy, the spit he can’t keep in his mouth running down Stan's fingers.

And yet, Stan wants him. In his bed, his space, all over him. Sad and desperate, Stan pulls Kenny closer, takes his fingers out of his mouth and kisses him. He tastes of beer with hints of vodka, bitter and sharp and gross. It’s perfect.

Kenny can’t seem to stop moving, his hands constantly grabbing at Stan's shirt, legs shifting over and over again, shaky fingers pushing and pulling, pushing and pulling. The kiss turns sloppy until it’s just Kenny breathing against Stan's mouth, giggling like Stan just told him the funniest joke. It turns into mindless begging, pleading, Kenny asking Stan for something he doesn’t know. Keeps saying please, please, but nothing ever follows.

“You should go to bed. You should- you’re so out of it. Go to sleep. How’s that sound?”

Kenny snorts and hugs all his limbs around Stan, holding him in place. Like an octopus. “’M fine. I feel fine. I’m not- stupid. I’m not a baby. I know what I’m doing.”

Kenny kisses Stan's nose then, laughing, kissing upwards until he’s covering his forehead in kisses. It’s loud, and wet.

“Gross.” Stan says. Kenny laughs some more. He guides Stan's hands to his waist, under his shirt, to his belly.

“Will you touch me? C’mon, just- please, fuck.”

Kenny looks so frustrated then, so impatient and tired. Stan gives in, spreads his fingertips, and Kenny shuffles closer, pressing his wet forehead into the crook of Stan's neck.

They’re both so drunk, a loud, smelly mess sprawled out on the couch. Kenny keeps making tiny noises, getting louder every time moves his fingers over his skin, voice cracking pathetically. Stan almost laughs.

“You need to- Kyle's asleep. He’s gonna wake up.” Stan has a hand in Kenny's hair, holding him in place, trying to get him to relax a bit.

“M’sorry.” Kenny says, and immediately grins, not looking very sorry at all. “Your hand-“ He starts, gesturing to Stan's fingers in his hair, leaning into the touch until Stan gets it and pulls harder, “I like that.”

Stan likes that too. He looks at Kenny and wonders how they got here. He’s a mess, they’re both a mess, and they’re both gonna regret this tomorrow. Some of Kenny's hair is plastered to his forehead with sweat and he’s out of breath, flushed cheeks and panting. He smells of smoke and vodka. Stan thinks it might be the hottest sight he’s seen all year.

Kenny sits up between Stan's thighs and tries to pull his shirt up and over his head. He gets stuck, makes a noise, and Stan reaches up to help him. Kenny is flushed, splotches of red covering his cheeks, crawling up to his ears and down his chest. He’s hot to the touch like he’s running a fever, clumsy and needy when he starts pulling on Stan's shirt. He gives up trying to get it over Stan's head and just pushes it up to his armpits, hands wandering from his chest to the soft pudgy give of his stomach. Stan's watches him, studies him, sighs when he feels Kenny lean down to rest his warm cheek on his stomach. His hair tickles the sensitive flesh there and it makes Stan squirm and put a hand in Kenny's hair.

Stan breathes, stares up at the ceiling, and watches as his blurry vision makes colors dance every time he blinks. He feels Kenny's hot breath on his abdomen, wet, damp, and kinda gross. His nose is runny and he can feel Kenny's tongue. Stan doesn’t know if he’s going to blow him or wipe his snotty nose on his stomach.

Stan whines, and it’s pathetic, pathetic that he’s thought about this before, and pathetic that he’s too weak to stop it because he’s only capable of thinking with his dick when he’s intoxicated. A noise interrupts his trainwreck of an attempt to form a coherent thought and he looks down.

Kenny is snoring.

He’s snoring, and he’s drooling, cheek smushed against Stan's tummy. Stan should be annoyed, or relieved, or both, but through everything – he just feels content.

“Oh, Ken.” he says, quietly, smiling to himself like a stupid idiot. As if anything except maybe a marching band could wake him up right now.

Stan tries to reach for the blanket that’s been thrown over the back of the couch- but he gives up after three seconds of stretching his fingers and comes to the conclusion that he can just use Kenny as his blanket. He fumbles a bit, reaches his arms around Kenny so he won’t fall off, and dozes off.

When Stan wakes up, Kenny isn’t there anymore, and the thumping ache in the base of his skull pretty much makes him wish he was dead. He must’ve said it out loud, because he can hear Kyle yelling at him to not be so dramatic from the kitchen. The sharp smell of coffee draws him there, and Kyle's leaning against the counter, slurping his coffee, watching Kenny put his jacket on. Stan steps past him and grabs a mug.

“Hey, um, sorry, I would’ve- but I should’ve showed up at work about half an hour ago, which is, uh, kinda bad.” Kenny laughs a little and gives him an apologetic smile, and Stan gets it, he knows his schedule. He almost feels sorry for him when he sees the size of Kenny's eyebags and how tan he is.

Kenny gestures towards the door then, still looking at Stan and half-smiling like he’s waiting for something, anything. After a moment of questionable silence he lets his hands fall to his sides and starts walking towards the hallway. Stan's fixated on his mug when he feels Kyle tug on his shirt. He looks up at him and holds in his laugh as he watches Kyle point towards the door, mouthing for him to go after Kenny.

He nods, puts his mug on the counter, and meets Kenny in the hallway, folding his arms and leaning against the wall next to him. Kenny finishes putting on his shoes and opens the door.

“Sorry I fell asleep on you last night. Sorry, also, that I’m leaving, I really would’ve- but I gotta-“

“Ken, I know, it’s fine. It’s okay. “ Stan smiles at him, honest, and he means it, he gets it. Kenny smiles back.

“Okay.”

Kenny leans forward and kisses him, not half assed, and not a peck, but a real, genuine kiss. It’s bitter like coffee and Stan's so shocked he forgets to close his eyes. As soon as it’s over he’s out the door, leaving Stan there, heart hammering in his chest and cheeks warm. Maybe, just maybe, he meant it.

**Author's Note:**

> this is so gay


End file.
